Catch and Release
by Closet Adventuralist
Summary: A woman sentenced to death experiences a series of dreams that may save her life. HaldirXOC
1. Chapter 1

**So, this little plot bunny bounced around in my head last night, so I typed out a few paragraphs--that turned into three chapters. Its only going to be three chapters, and they're relatively short. I just needed a break from the Escaping storyline (for those of you following Escaping, there will be a final chapter--more of an epilogue--but the right inspiration hasn't come to me, yet. Be patient). **

**I intentionally left some of this vague, and the storyline never really had a backstory. Its probably the most mary-sue thing I've ever written, but we're all allowed to indulge a little. Its also the most angsty thing I've ever written, and probably a product of my mood. **

**Anyways, hope you enjoy it, short as it is. I'll be posting the last two chapters in the next couple of days.**

**Let me know what you think.**

**CA  
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He was smirking at her, she knew. There was no other word for that half-smile he sent her way from time to time—mostly when she was stumbling through the initial fog to find him. She was always searching for him, always rounding trees and ducking under low-hanging branches in order to satisfy the call he was emitting from his very being.

When she finally came upon him, he was leaning against the wide trunk of a tree so tall she almost couldn't see the canopy above. The shadow, however, was present, and his golden hair shimmered even in the dim light. Straightening, she approached him, holding out a hand for him to grasp. It never failed, the electricity coursed through her body every time their skin touched, starting in the very tips of her fingers and spreading through her limbs to pool in her torso, holding her here and forcing her gasp for breath.

"I missed you," he intoned, a statement and a warning.

She couldn't help that she didn't sleep well, given the circumstances, but she couldn't tell him that—she didn't even know if he was real. It was becoming a more and more rare thing for her to sleep deep enough that she could find him.

"I'm sorry," she replied, "But I'm here now, aren't I?" She looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

His head tilted slightly, sending his hair over his shoulder to brush against her cheek. "I suppose you are." His gaze turned tender, his hand moving to cup her chin and angle her face for a kiss. Several more kisses followed, each deeper than the last. He pulled away, breathing hard, "You must sleep more, you need the rest." He slid down the tree, keeping her steady above him on the way down.

Settling on her knees, she allowed a smile to spread over her mouth, "I am sleeping," she said with a kiss. "See, sleep."

Closing her eyes, she laid her forehead on his shoulder, sinking into his embrace. Inhaling, she savored that scent that was uniquely his—leather and rain, and leaves, all rolled into one succulent bouquet.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck, fingers tracing a pattern over her spine. Over and over he let his hands make the trek over her body, sliding under the fabric of her shirt to slide against her skin. She kept her hands still, for the most part, only allowing the smallest movements of her index finger, feeling the incredible softness of his skin and sighing.

When at last he grew impatient (it was becoming easier and easier to test his control), he lifted her face and pressed a soft but insistent kiss to her mouth, his tongue slipping between her lips to mingle with her own. It was a new kind of kiss for him, she remembered. The first time she'd nipped at his mouth and slid her tongue along his teeth, he'd been shocked, speechless. And then he set diligently about the task of learning all the intricacies of her mouth.

It seemed that what they did best was to teach each other—he taught her how to make a fire from nothing more than wood and a piece of string (a talents she had yet to master, but he indulged her), she taught him how loosen the guards he'd held up so hard when they'd first met. They were fairly matched; she would say, but for one area. It seemed so effortless for him to bring her to a quivering puddle of satiation, a touch, a kiss, was usually all it took to dampen her underwear. At times she wondered if she'd put up any fight at all, initially.

All so suddenly, her shirt was off and her pants opened, pulled down slightly, and her back was pressing against the cool moss of the forest floor. He leaned over her, pressing kisses down her chest, abdomen, and thighs, sliding the material of her pants down as he went. Breathing hard, her hips flexing ever so slightly in invitation, she waited for him to finish disrobing. When he pressed her thighs apart with his knees, she sucked in a breath, hoping he'd give her some mercy from the heat coiling in her stomach. But he seemed in no rush, resting against her, but not entering, pressing tiny kisses along her jaw, her cheeks, her mouth.

"Please," she breathed, lifting her hips and arching her back.

Groaning, he reached down and guided himself inside, pushing with agonizing slowness until he rested at the hilt. His rhythm was slow, his crystalline eyes closing with concentration. _Dear God,_ she thought, _he's determined to go slow_. She was too eager for him, slow just wouldn't do. She wanted release, and she wanted him to bring her there quickly. Tightly, she flexed her inner muscles, timing the squeeze so that he felt the pulse along each thrust. As expected, he moaned lowly, hips losing their beat for the breast of moments, before leaping forward hard.

He gripped her knee pulling her thigh around his waist and lifting her hips, creating a new, deeper angle that sent tingles up and down her spine in time with his movements. She was barreling towards orgasm and, from the sounds issuing forth from his throat, so was he. A few more, well-timed, squeezes, and her womb was trembling with her release, and exhalation of her stress and a deepening of her feelings for him. He followed swiftly behind, his teeth catching her lip and pulling her up for a hard kiss.

There was barely enough time to bask in the afterglow before she was being pulled back through the fog, her arms unable to hold to his form long enough for her to tell him she loved him. There was never enough time, never enough moments between the beginning and the end for her to tell him anything. Her heart broke from it every time

Opening her eyes to the dull gray morning, Marie rolled over in her cot, the blanket scratching at her cheek, so thin that it barely kept the cold from seeping into her bones. She rolled to her back and exhaled loudly, looking up to the barred windows and wondering, not for the first time, if she was going crazy. It was entirely possible. For six months she'd been dreaming of him, ever since she'd been dropped into this hell hole they called Rohan.

At first, it had been easy to blend in; the women here were not subordinated as she had heard practiced in other countries. But she had no protection, and, after a night trying to work her way through waiting tables at what she guessed was the town's version of a bar, she'd had to use a blade (small, but sharp nonetheless) on a man who got just a little too frisky.

The trial, if it could be called one, was swift; barely an hour passing before she was sentenced to hard labor. But it couldn't have stopped there—no, the guards had to be just as underhanded and malicious as the guy at the bar, and once again her self-defense had earned her a trial before a group of her so-called peers. This one took even less time. A life for a life, they said, and then she'd been sentenced to hang a few weeks later at the spring festival. The people, she guessed, were waiting anxiously for that day, and probably as bloodthirsty as her judges.

Tears leaked from her eyes, she missed home. Home, where there was satellite TV, and cell phones, and _fucking_ lawyers to defend her. Wiping angrily at her eyes, Marie stood, stretching her aching muscles against the bars of her cell, her eyes taking in the other sleeping prisoners, gathered together in a cell opposite her.

She had been put in a cell all her own, they thought her too much a threat. She scoffed; did people not defend themselves here? Was violence such an accepted practice that the citizens had become desensitized to the bloodshed? No, that couldn't be right, they had been decidedly shocked at her little incident—she was a woman, they'd said. Did women actually have it in them to kill? Apparently, they did—her brows furrowed, women were soldiers here, and how could they have been so shocked?

Marie shook her head, it was all a conspiracy, and it had to be. Someone had it out for her, though she had no idea who. She'd kept a low profile the whole time, not uttering one word about her home, or, if she did, giving vague details and deflecting questions until they lost interest.

She was going to die; there was no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She was going to hang like some centuries-old felon. Slamming her hands against the bars, Marie let out a groan of frustration—she just wanted to go home, and to forget everything that had happened in the last six months. Well, maybe not everything. The dreams were nice, when she was able to sleep deeply enough to have them. He, whoever he was, was like some guardian angel that kept her sane—and aroused, it seemed—when her entire world was crumbling beneath her.

The Spring festival was a week away, she had heard. Leaning against the bars, and threading her arms through them so that they hung into the center aisle, Marie made the decision to try to sleep through the next week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey all, Here's the second chapter. I know I said in my previous story, Escaping, that I don't usually switch POV's because it tends to confuse not only the reader, but also the writer (Me), but I felt that this story really couldn't be told from just Marie's POV, I had to add a little of Haldir as well. It was harder to write--I'm a girl, and seeing things from a guy's perspective is different, so please be gentle.**

She was teasing him, but he was reveling in it, shifting gloriously in her arms as she took him higher with ever touch, every kiss. Every night there was something new to learn from her, some new pleasure to be exploring—and explore them he did. He was determined to find every inch of her that made her tremble, every patch of skin that caused her to cry out so beautifully. And, of course, he would not deny her the pleasure of doing to same to him.

With a smile that hinted at something wicked, she trailed her lips down his chest, flicking a tongue over his nipples before dipping into his belly button. There was a beat of nothingness—he couldn't bring himself to look, lest he spill himself too early—and then the heat of her mouth was running along his shaft, her nimble fingers following suit. He groaned, flexing his hips forward and digging his hands into the ground by his side.

She licked a trail of fire from base to tip, and he vowed never to let her have so much control ever again. She palmed his thighs, pushing them wider so that she could settle between them, her mouth wrapping around the tip. This time his groan came out more like a cough, harsh in his throat, his whole body shaking with the sensation. _Then again…_ Very talented, very, very talented.

When he felt his body begin to make the ascent to completion, he yanked her up, rolling to pin her body beneath his. With a quick movement, he was inside her, jerking forward with uneven bursts of power, harsh words in his native tongue erupting from his mouth. There was no time to worry about whether or not she was with him. All he knew at that moment was the release of his seed into her womb, the feeling of her thighs about his waist, her inner muscles clenching at him, forcing him to go faster, harder.

Breathing hard, he rolled to his side, burying his face in her bosom, one hand holding her to him and the other flopping out above his head. "Sorceress," he mumbled, petting her hair affectionately.

"Mmm," she replied, wrapping a small hand around his bicep and kissing his chest. "You love it."

"Aye," he nodded, pushing the sweat-laden hairs from her face. "You try my patience, at times."

She laughed, bright and full of joy, "I don't think you have any. Patience, that is. You haven't once let me play nearly long enough."

He trailed a hand over her skin, smooth and slick with sweat and the aftermath of their lovemaking, "You played long enough, dear one. Any longer and I would have embarrassed myself like some untried youth."

She slanted an amused look his way, her eyes drooping with their exertion, "Consider it a victory on my part, instead of an embarrassment on yours."

Lifting to set his head on his palm, he smiled, "Victory? Oh, I think the victory was mine, my Lady."

"Care to try again, then?" She asked, leaning forward to kiss him softly on the mouth.

Already, his body was responding to her proposition, readying him for the consummation of his love for her, again. But it was not to be on this night, for he could already feel the pull of wakefulness seeping into their tiny world set apart from everything else.

Pulling her close, he kissed her, tasting her mouth just once more before it all ended. "Another time," he whispered, watching her fade away with a mounting sorrow.

Sitting up in bed, Haldir ran his hands through his long hair, pulling it back from his face. His sheets were soaked, his seed drying on his thighs and stomach. Groaning, he pulled them from the bed, as he had done for many mornings past. He threw them in a pile in the corner of his room and made his way to the bathing chamber he shared with his brothers. There was a bowl of warm water ready for him, prepared by one of the maiden-women sent by his Queen, no doubt. She had already counseled him on his recurring dreams, saying that she could see nothing in her mirror, except Spring. So, he waited for the onset of Spring for answers—impatiently, but he waited.

While he cleaned himself, he thought about the latest in a long line of the most erotic dreams he'd ever had. At first, he had marveled at how inventive his mind could be to dream up a female so clearly, with so defined a personality that he might actually believe she was real. What started as flirtation and gentle circling gradually became so much more. That he was attracted to her was undeniable, that he loved her was absolute, that he thought himself wrong in the head was a definite.

But, as the nights grew more and more clearly defined, he began to feel otherwise, she was so full of life—had quirks and could offer an opinion that was outright opposed to his, and would vehemently defend it until he'd had to stop the debate with a kiss. She was intelligent, and curious, and so very good with her mouth. He groaned. None of his previous lovers had touched him in that way, it was a practice reserved for humans, thought to be below that of the Elves. Yet, he definitely thought the act had merit.

Stepping into a pair of leggings and pulling a shirt over his head, Haldir forced the subject from his mind. It wouldn't do to have his focus elsewhere while training the newest batch of Elves who were over-eager for the fences. After securing his boots and slinging his bow over his shoulder, Haldir left his talan to make his way to the practice fields, only to be stopped by one of Galadriel's handmaidens waiting by his front door.

"My Lady wishes to see you," she said demurely, her eyes downcast. She was young, too young to try to play with him, using coy glances and flirtatious speech to try to lure him into her bed. He found that he appreciated it more; the thought of having to be polite while refusing a maiden was almost more than he could bear at that point. He had long extricated himself from the beds of his usual lovers, leaving them confused and disappointed in the wake of this female from his dreams.

Following the steps of the young elleth, Haldir ducked down into the enclave housing Galadriel's mirror, noting that she was already waiting for him. Gazing at him with fathomless eyes, she bade him come closer, a light smile gracing her face. "Haldir, my noblest warrior."

Haldir bowed in respect, "My Lady, you called?"

She nodded, circling the mirror, "Are your dreams still troubled?"

Feeling a blush creep to his cheeks, Haldir searched for the words, "I…would not call them troubled, My Lady. Disconcerting, mayhap."

She chuckled, the sound melodious and in perfect harmony with the forest around them. "You do not look rested, and I have heard that you took to your bed while the evening was still young. These dreams are troubling you, whether you wish to admit it or not."

Her face suddenly took a sad turn, her hands coming to tangle together in front of her. "I have yet news to give you cause to be more troubled, Haldir. You must ride hard to Rohan, else some ill befall her."

Haldir's body tensed, comprehending the implications of what his Lady had just said. "She is real, then."

Galadriel nodded, "I did not know until moments ago, when she cried out for aid." Taking quick steps, she stood directly in front of him, her eyes pleading, her stance firm, "Ride to Rohan, Haldir, you must arrive before the onset of Spring, else she is lost for you, and I will not have your heart break because of the folly of Men."

Stunned, Haldir swallowed the bile rising in his throat. She was real and she was in the hands of Men, in danger. The urgency overwhelmed him, forced him to take quick breaths to calm himself. After giving a curt bow, he ran from the enclave, sprinting for the stables and calling for his brothers to hasten to him. They arrived confused, but willing to follow his orders despite his obviously vexed state.

He saddled and mounted the fastest horse in all of Lothlorien, speeding through the Great Entrance, his brothers flanking him. Rumil had thought to bring some provisions, Orophin had an extra quiver of arrows for him, and for that he was thankful. They would not, could not stop until they reached Rohan. He couldn't bear to do otherwise, not while the hope that she lived set fire to his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the third and final chapter, hope you guys like it. I really enjoyed writing Catch and Release, though I only did it in one sitting. Now, with this out of my system, I might be able to focus on finishing the last chapter of Escaping. *Crosses fingers***

**Remember Reviews=Love  
**

How had seven days passed so quickly? Marie counted them backwards, mulling over the monotonous time spent lingering in her cell, bored. She didn't even have her dreams to distract her from the onset of her demise. The dreams had stopped suddenly; leaving her to darkness in the night, darkness that now encompassed her waking world. She felt the now familiar tingle of oncoming tears, but they never formed—she had cried enough for the week, her body steadily refused to let her sulk in her sorrow any longer.

Outside, she could hear the sounds of the festival starting, voices and laughter, and cheer—all disgusting to her now. They would laugh and cheer as she was hung by the neck until she was dead, perhaps they would heckle, or throw things. It didn't really matter, really, she would be going about the business of dying and wouldn't really have time to consider the reaction of the crowd.

Picking at the dirt on either side of her, she waited…that was all she could do now, wait until the hangman came down from the gallows to claim her. Squinting against the light, Marie wondered if God had specifically planned for the day to be so cheery, for the sun to shine so brightly—ironic.

The door at the end of the hall swung open, and Marie recognized one of the guards ambling down the aisle. So, the time had come. Her chest burned with fear and frustration. She was innocent, self-defense was not murder, she didn't do anything wrong.

Her strength was fading fast, but she managed to move to standing, her breaths coming in soft, agonizing pants even as she bit her lip to keep the loudest sobs from coming. The guard opened the door and motioned her forward with a wave of his hand. Marie stumbled from the cell, breathing hard and shaking all over. The prisoners across the way waved their goodbyes, some looking at her with sad eyes, others' downcast. She tried to smile, failing utterly.

The guard gripped her arm, hauling her forward; out into the brightest light she'd seen in weeks. Marie squeezed her eyes shut and followed blindly, lead by the guard to the gallows. The world around her seemed to slow, even as she opened her eyes to the merriment of the festival in full swing. There were children laughing, the sound of horses galloping, men selling this or that in stalls. All of it, it seemed, in celebration for her death.

Her steps were weak, her body arched towards the ground as she climbed the creaky, wooden platform. All of a sudden, the sounds that had suffocated her along her short walk seemed to dim, leaving her staring at the rope as it hung from the overhead beam. The knot looked secure—she remembered once learning to tie a noose from a coworker, thirteen loops, just to be safe.

Tears leaked from her eyes, but her muscles loosened, her eyes glued to the innocuous stretch of rope that would soon be secure about her neck. Forced once more forward, Marie allowed the hangman to guide her into position. She didn't even hear him ask if she wanted a blindfold—he pulled the hood over her eyes, anyway.

The darkness was not complete; she could still see the light of the day pouring over foggy bodies that moved restlessly in her field of vision. Her breaths puffed back at her, heating her cheeks even as her blood ran cold. They knotted her hands behind her back; slipped the noose about her neck… she closed her eyes, praying that her neck would snap, to make the death swift and painless.

Screams erupted from all around her—oh, God, she was going to hell, she could already hear the tormented damned called out for mercy. Her breath rushed in and out of her lungs as she waited for the lever to pull the platform out from under her. She heard the creak of a wheel, and then she was weightless, suspended in air for but a moment. _Swift…_ she thought, feeling her stomach rise into her chest.

And then her feet hit the ground hard, jarring her back to full alertness. Marie scrambled to sit upright, her feet slipping on the loosely compacted dirt. The noose hadn't held, she wasn't suffocating. Marie lived, if only for a few moments more.

Erratically, she tried to wriggle her hands out of the knot behind her, her fingers aching from the exertion. There were more screams around her, feet stomping all around her, above her. And then someone was touching her. She screamed, the sound hoarse in the back of her dry throat.

"Shh," came a voice very near her, "I will not harm you."

Marie felt near hysteria, the voice was the same as from her dreams—she was dreaming? She fought a bit harder, feeling the noose tighten just the barest bit around her neck. It was soon loosened, despite her fierce struggles, and the hood pulled from her head.

She nearly choked on her inhale. "How?" She breathed, her eyes wide with shock.

He smiled, his face almost glowing in the slatted light beneath the platform. Too stunned to smile back, Marie merely stared dumbly at him, mouth wide open. He brushed her hair from her face and cupped her chin affectionately, she almost cried, so great was her relief.

Stomping steps above them startled Marie from her state of surprise. Her savior glanced around, gauging the danger, then slid out from under the wooden steps, "We must go," he said lowly, his eyes pleading with her to follow.

He hauled her along through the rushing crowd, angling her around the stone-masoned walls until they came to a small hallway. His footsteps were light, and too swift for her stumbling feet, she couldn't keep up. But he pressed on, taking her this way and that, to the back of the building, near the stables. Three horses and two men lay in wait, one holding a bloodied sword, that other notching an arrow.

Soon, Marie was hoisted up upon a horse and then they were speeding out of the city, into the plains of Rohan. They rode for a long expanse of time, long enough the Marie lost track of time, and consciousness. Not even the gentle jostling of the steed beneath her could wake her from her exhaustion.

Fingers were sliding through her hair rhythmically, calming her racing heart and soothing her troubled mind. He was lying in a familiar position, his head resting on his palm, propped up above her, smirking.

"She wakes," he said, his accent soft, but more noticeable that it had been in dreams.

Marie rubbed at her eyes, "What happened? Shouldn't I be dead right now?"

A dark look crossed his handsome face, more handsome than she could ever remember it being. Even aggravated as he looked, she felt insides melt a little as she took him in for the first time in person. Vaguely, she wondered just what else about him the fog of dreams had blurred.

"Do not speak of that, it is over," he said. And then he took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, "You are safe, dear one."

The endearment struck a chord with her, and she felt a burst of giggles seep through her lips. Safe. And with _him_. It was as if she had never woken from her desperate dreams of late, as if she still lay in that cell, cold, but blissfully asleep.

"Are you real?"

He nodded, "As real as you are." As if to prove his point, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, so soft it was barely a caress. She shivered.

"I don't even know your name," she said, laughing lightly, wryly.

His face softened, "I am Haldir. And your name is…?"

"Marie," she replied. "It's nice to meet you, finally."

Haldir's smile seemed to light up the whole forest around them as he lifted their entwined hands, "The pleasure is all mine." He placed a kiss on her palm, his breath fanning out across her fingers, sending little tingles up her arm.

Marie forced herself to remain calm and not roll him over and kiss the life out of him. Instead, she settled for playing idly with the ends of his hair, "What happens now?"

Haldir settled back onto the ground, pulling her to lie pressed against him, "Now? Now, we go home."


End file.
